


Don't Be Fucking Rude

by frankiesin



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - Desolation Row, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Brendon is an egotistical fuck and Dallon regrets his choices, Kid Fic, M/M, Punk Mikey, Single Parents, Teacher Dallon, Trans Character, past Brallon - Freeform, past ryden
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-20 12:55:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11335968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frankiesin/pseuds/frankiesin
Summary: Your soulmate's first words are written on your arm. Dallon Weekes is thirty-six years old, a single dad to two kids, and he still hasn't met his yet.He's starting to think he never will.





	Don't Be Fucking Rude

**Author's Note:**

> Me: I don't really like soulmate AUs
> 
> Rarepair network: this month's theme is soulmate AUs!
> 
> Me: signs up anyway
> 
> No, but this was fun to write and it's for a pairing that I really like anyway. Dallon and Mikey are good bass boys and I support them being unnecessarily tall together.

Dallon Weekes wasn’t bitter on purpose. He was a victim of circumstance, and circumstances had left him with two kids and no one to help raise them. He was also an unsuccessful musician, but again, not his fault. He’d been in bands before, but the last one had kicked him out, slowly, painfully, until Dallon was stressed out and unable to sleep and had to go crying to the frontman to let him go. He was thirty-six and instead of playing on stage where he wanted to be, he was working as an English teacher at Glenfield Middle school. 

 

It could be worse, really. Dallon could still be stuck in Utah, avoiding glares on the street as he tried to get around. Dallon was trans, which his ex-husband hadn’t been a fan of when Dallon tried to come out. Dallon’s ex-husband was, as far as Dallon knew, still a Mormon and still working at an office job in Utah. He’d probably remarried and gotten the perfect Stepford children and wife he’d wanted. 

 

Dallon rubbed at his face, ignoring the words printed on his arm. They read  _ that’s a rude way to say hello _ , which was kind of disheartening. Everyone was born with a set of words on their arm, and they were the first words their soulmate would ever say to them. Everyone had a soulmate, but not everyone found theirs, or got married to them. Dallon’s ex-husband was not his soulmate, nor was the frontman that he’d had an affair with. 

 

Dallon made a face, thinking about Brendon. That man was a mess, really. He’d found his soulmate, only to let the fucker go because he wouldn’t let Brendon have all the control he wanted. Brendon was married to someone else now, a nice looking woman that Dallon had only met a few times before he left the band. Dallon was still single, and still hadn’t met his soulmate. He was starting to feel like he never would, and that he’d die wondering who thought his introduction was rude. 

 

The bell rang, and Dallon swept the remains of his lunch off and into the trash can. The first day of school was always a whirlwind, but Dallon enjoyed it. He missed chaos, sometimes. His life had gotten too predictable, recently, and it was nice to get new faces every once in a while. 

 

The kids started rolling in, loud and pushy as always. Everyone still felt the summer heat on their skin and the restlessness of the sea calling to them. Dallon scanned the students as they found their seats. He always looked for the ones that stuck out, because those were the ones he remembered. They were like him, often: outcasts amongst their own peer groups, not sure where they fit in now that they were finally teenagers and not rosy cheeked, hyperactive sixth graders. Dallon had been out of school for too long, so he no longer understood the weird shit that went down between sixth and seventh grade, but it changed people. Kids started wearing all black, or dressing like they were adults. 

 

Amelie was going to do that, next summer. Dallon was a little terrified about what his daughter was going to become when she hit that mysterious summer of change. He spotted a girl in short shorts and a tank top that barely went past her belly button, and how she flashed fake lashes at any boy who came near her. Dallon was all for women wearing and acting however they wanted, but he still hoped Amelie didn’t become that kind of girl in a year. He hoped he’d taught her that there was more to life than the attention of a boy.

 

He spotted another girl, low down in her seat and bobbing her head to the music coming through her earbuds. It was loud enough that Dallon could hear it, but not so loud that he could make out the genre. Going off of her all black outfit and button-clad jean vest, he assumed it was some kind of punk rock. 

 

The bell rang again, signalling the end of the class change, and Dallon stood up. The music girl--who was sitting in the front row, strangely enough--pulled her earbuds out and wrapped them around her iPod. Dallon nodded, and turned his attention to the class as a whole. “Alright, everyone get out some notebook paper and a pen. Don’t complain, this isn’t an essay. It’s just a way to get to know you guys.”

 

The class looked a little apprehensive. Dallon continued on anyway. He’d done this exercise every year, and it worked fine, even if it was a little superficial. “I’ll start. I’m Mr. Weekes, I’m originally from Utah, and I used to be a musician. I have an older brother and a younger sister, and also two kids, one of whom is a year younger than you guys. My favourite band is Fleetwood Mac, and I don’t have a favourite sports team, because I don’t follow sports that well.”

 

He instructed the class to write their answers to the questions on their own paper, and then wrote the questions on the board, as well as a few extras that related to school and the class in general. He tried to be honest with his students, because he remembered how much school sucked, and he wanted them to know that he got it. Sure, he was getting old enough to be their dad, but he hadn’t forgotten everything that went on in adolescence. He wasn’t entirely clueless. 

 

He kept the lesson light, going through the roll call--earbuds was named Bandit and short shorts was named MacKenzie--and then reviewing the syllabus. He collected everyone’s introduction papers, and then released the homework. Naturally, when the kids heard that they had to do something other than get their syllabus signed, they all collectively groaned and started to complain. Dallon was used to it. The reading wasn’t even that heavy. It was a single short story, only five pages, and Amelie had read it at least seven times since Dallon started using it in the curriculum. If she could get through it as a bedtime story, then these kids would be fine. 

 

Dallon filed the introductions away in his fifth period file, and took the few minutes between class change to check his phone and make sure he hadn’t missed anything about his kids. He lived in a different district from the one he taught at, on purpose, because he didn’t want to live through being an embarrassment to his own kids. He knew it was coming, and that soon Amelie was going to hate him and roll her eyes whenever he tried to give her advice, but at least he wouldn’t have to watch her and her friends act like they didn’t know him for eight hours every day. 

 

At least Knox still had a few more years before he was old enough to hate adults. He was in third grade, and adorable and talented as hell. They both were, but Knox was obsessed with jazz music, and Dallon thought it was the cutest thing ever. He wished he had friends other than the faculty here, so that he could show off the videos of his son playing saxophone in their kitchen. Dallon was lonely, and it was partially because of all the moving, and partially because he was a single gay trans man, still single and soulmateless at thirty-six. He was almost forty. Most people his age were explaining how soulmates worked to their own kids, instead of still looking for their own. 

 

Dallon gathered all of his things together and then locked up his classroom. His car was parked on the other side of the building, in the teacher’s lot, but he wasn’t in too much of a rush. Knox and Amelie played at the neighbour’s house until Dallon got home from work, because the neighbours had three kids around their age. It was convenient, and the parents weren’t horrible people either. They were Catholic, though, and so Dallon tried to avoid lengthy conversations with them. He had a feeling his kids might get banned if their friends’ parents knew what their dad was. Catholics didn’t really like gay people. Or people who got divorced. Or people who married non-soulmates, for that matter.

 

“Kids, I'm back!” Dallon called out as he knocked on the Ways’ door. They'd given him a key to their house, because they were old and their kids lived farther away than Dallon and couldn't always come by to check in on their parents. Dallon didn’t judge the Ways’ kids. He’d seen them come by a few times, so they weren’t entirely absent. Dallon was, with his family, but it wasn’t his choosing. His parents had told him he was their daughter, and that, no matter how much he tried to change and mutilate his body, he would always be their daughter. It sucked, and Dallon dropped ties with them. 

 

If Dallon was going to be a single dad living an uneventful life, he was going to make sure his kids got the best out of it. And if that meant never seeing their grandparents, then so be it. 

 

“Dad!” Knox screamed, running through the Ways’ kitchen to where Dallon was waiting. Dallon crouched down to meet his son, pulling him in for a hug. Knox bounced on his feet, pulling at the collar of Dallon’s shirt. “Dad, Ms. Way took us down to the basement today and they have a whole band down there! They have drums, and a guitar, and a bass like you do in your office! It’s so cool!”

 

“That’s awesome,” Dallon said, grinning down at his son. He hoped that Knox’s adventures in music would be more successful than his own. 

 

Dallon found Amelie as well, and thanked Ms. Way for letting his kids hang out in her house, and for showing Knox the instruments in the basement. The three Weekes headed back over to their own house, and Amelie and Knox headed up to their bedrooms while Dallon unpacked all of his stuff in his office. It was in the back corner of the house, behind the laundry room, and it wasn’t very big, but it was enough. It gave Dallon some privacy, and he no longer had to work in his own bedroom, with all his papers strewn out across the mattress. 

 

Suburban life was strange, but Dallon was glad he had it. It was good for the kids, to have a yard to run around in, even though the area wasn’t the safest and they didn’t get to play that much. There were parks, and other kids, and it made Dallon feel like he was an actual adult, and not just a recent college grad and ex-bassist trying to sort his life out. 

 

Dallon pulled out the questionnaires from his new students, piling them up neatly and then starting from the first period and working his way down. He used these questions for a lot of things, but mostly for a seating chart. Dallon didn’t mind if kids chose their seats, but he knew that middle schoolers had a hierarchy, and if he didn’t step in and assign them places to sit, there’d be drama by midterm season, if not sooner. 

 

Dallon paused when he got to his fifth period class. It was the one right after lunch, with earbuds and short shorts in it. Earbud’s sheet was near the top, and Dallon flipped to it first. He was curious. Usually people who dressed in all black and played their music too loud didn’t sit in the front, nor did they write a lot. She’d written a full paragraph, though, in her scratchy, slanted handwriting. 

 

_ I’m Bandit Lee Way. I’m from New Jersey, and I have two moms. One of them sings in a band and writes comics, and the other is an artist. Sometimes she plays music too, but she says she’s more of a performer. I don’t have any siblings, but I do have an Uncle Mikey, and he’s in the band with my mom. My favourite bands are my mom’s band, Green Day, and Against Me!, but I also like Pansy Division and Pencey Prep, even though they don’t exist anymore. I don’t follow sports either, but Uncle Mikey likes the Jersey Devils and takes me to their games sometimes, so I guess they’re okay. _

 

Dallon figured she’d be fine in the front row, since that was where she’d put herself. He might have to move her back if there were too many trouble-makers in the class, but other than that, he’d let Bandit keep her seat in the front. 

 

* * *

 

Dallon’s classes weren’t horrific, considering they were seventh graders, and most seventh graders were horrible. Amelie, however, was starting to scare Dallon. She was hanging out with older kids, and while Dallon had no problem with her making friends outside of the people in her year, these were the kinds of kids who’d sneak out at night to see shows up in New York City. Maybe it was because Dallon was originally from a small town in Utah, and didn’t have a lot of big city experience out of touring, but he was worried. Amelie was eleven. She was too young to be running around in a big city with friends. 

 

The good news, out of all of this, was that Amelie was interested in music now, and she and Knox had started talking about making a band. Dallon would support them, but he wasn’t ready to drop everything and pick up his bass just yet. He didn’t have a lot of spare cash laying around, so he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to get them instruments for Christmas. He wanted to. He wanted to be a dad that they were proud of, since he was the only one they had. 

 

Midterms were coming up, and Dallon was stressing out because of them. Midterms meant student teacher conferences, and those always sucked because Dallon had to figure out a way to talk to his kids teachers as well as the parents for all of his own students. It was hectic. Dallon was tempted to let his students write a book report on whatever they wanted, but he knew better. Thirteen year olds weren’t mature enough to be let loose on their own. If Dallon gave them free range, he’d end up with at least five book reports about sex and dick jokes. Dallon was tired of dick jokes. 

 

Dallon sighed, running his hand through his hair as he went over the midterm he’d been drafting up. The words on his arm stood out against his skin, taunting him. Dallon wouldn’t have this issue if he wasn’t a single parent, but he didn’t know who he was supposed to rudely introduce himself to to make it happen. 

 

There was a knock on the door, and Dallon sat up to see Amelie standing in the doorway to Dallon’s office. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and she looked nervous. Dallon smiled, trying not to show any of the stress he was feeling. “Hey, Am, what’s up?”

 

“Can I go to a sleepover?” she asked. 

 

Dallon raised an eyebrow. “Right now? It’s a school night, and it’s last minute.”

 

“No, not tonight,” Amelie said, shaking her head. “But, this Friday, one of my friends is having a sleepover on Friday, and she invited me, and I really want to go, Dad. Please?”

 

Dallon sighed. “I hate to ask this, but as your dad, and the resident responsible adult, I have to. Do I know this friend of yours? I don’t want you spending the night at a stranger’s house, especially if I don’t know where that stranger lives.”

 

“You don’t know her, but she’s cool, Dad, I promise,” Amelie said, rolling her eyes. Dallon cringed on the inside. His daughter was growing up, and becoming a sassy teen who didn’t listen to her parents. Dallon had not been trained for this. He’d been a good kid, except for when he started cutting his hair short and complaining about having to wear skirts. 

 

“Can I at least get a name and a contact number, in case of emergency?” Dallon asked. He’d never gone to sleepovers as a kid. Even before Dallon had started to think about his gender and sexuality, he’d been a weird kid. He was tall and gangly and was too nice to be anyone’s real friend. “I want you to have fun, but I’d like to be able to sleep at night. I can’t do that if I’m worried about you.”

 

Amelie sighed. “Fine, her name is Jamie and I’ll get her mom’s number. Can I go?”

 

“Yeah, just… be smart, make good choices, don’t feel like you have to kiss anyone just because your friends are, blah, blah, dad advice,” Dallon said, trailing off and sending his daughter a crooked smile to let her know that he was trying. He was. Dallon didn’t want his kids to grow up sheltered and bogged down like he had. He wanted them to look back on their childhood fondly, instead of wishing they’d done something before they left the house at eighteen. “Are you going to need me to drop you off, or are you going there right after school?”

 

“After school,” Amelie said. “Since you’ve got, like, adult stuff.”

 

Dallon nodded. “That sounds reasonable.”

 

“Thanks, Dad,” Amelie said, grinning. She jumped over and hugged Dallon around his shoulders, before standing back up and speeding out of the room. There was a spring in her step, and it made Dallon feel like he wasn’t a total failure. He wasn’t the coolest dad, or the richest, but at least he could keep his kids happy.

 

* * *

 

“Have a nice afternoon, Ms. Brennan!” Dallon called out as the angry suburban mother stormed from the classroom. She’d been pissed that her trust-fund baby boy was failing Dallon’s class and also had two detentions from him. It wasn’t Dallon’s fault. The kid was a bully, and he never did his own work, instead choosing to intimidate the other, smarter kids into doing it for him. 

 

Unfortunately for Ms. Brennan’s son, Dallon didn’t care how much money the family gave to school fundraisers, or that the boy was on the middle school varsity football team. Dallon was an English teacher, who taught kids how to read between the lines and express their opinions in writing, not a fundraiser mom or a football coach. Those things weren’t his problem. 

 

He hoped that the next parent wouldn’t be as bad. He looked down at the list, to see who was scheduled next, and saw that it was Bandit’s moms. Ms. and Ms. Way, which was kind of awesome, considering how some people still looked down on same sex couples. It didn’t matter if they were soulmates or not, people would still find a way to be assholes towards queer people. Dallon would probably be a bit biased to Bandit’s mom, whichever one showed up, because she was also gay like Dallon. It didn’t hurt that Bandit was a good student and wasn’t in danger of failing. 

 

Five minutes into Ms. Way’s timeslot, and she still hadn’t shown up. Dallon frowned. He hoped she wasn’t skipping. Dallon hated when parents did that. He’d rather they just not sign up for a conference and make it obvious that they didn’t care about their kid’s studies, instead of pretending that they were involved. Dallon was a considerate guy, when it came to conferences. He didn’t mind holding them outside of normal hours, because he understood that not every job allowed for mid-day meetings. 

 

The door swung open and a woman with jet black heels and an art portfolio under her arm came in. She looked frazzled, like she’d been racing through the school halls. Dallon stood up, his brows furrowed in concern. “Can I help you? That’s a really big portfolio…”

 

“It’s fine,” she said. “Normally I’d just leave it in the car, but I’ve been working with wax and I didn’t want it to melt. It’s too damn hot for the end of September.”

 

“Agreed,” Dallon said, sliding back down into his chair and watching as the woman settled herself in across the desk. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and crossed her legs. Dallon sat up, even though he was already tall, and flipped open Bandit’s file. “So, I’m Dallon Weekes, Bandit’s English teacher.”

 

“I’m Lindsey, one of her moms,” Lindsey said. “You’re one of Bandit’s favourite teachers, by the way. Between you and me, it’s probably more because you let the kids listen to music and less the choice of books you’re reading.”

 

“I’ve always done better with background music,” Dallon said, shrugging. He’d grown up with music, and he’d always loved it, even after his first band fell apart and he got dropped from his second. It didn’t matter. Nothing could take away Dallon’s love for a sweet bassline and well-constructed lyrics. “And they’re less likely to talk to each other if they’ve got earbuds in, I’ve noticed. There’s an unspoken rule about earbuds meaning  _ leave me alone _ .”

 

“That explains why Bandit’s always got hers in, then,” Lindsey said, laughing a little. She tilted her head. “How’s she doing, by the way? I love her dearly, but I know middle schoolers can be cruel, and I know she doesn’t act like other girls her age…”

 

“She’s doing great,” Dallon said. He turned the file folder around so that Lindsey could see all of the notes he’d made about Bandit. “She’s got a solid B, and she’d probably have an A if she wasn’t averse to group work, but I’m not complaining. Her analysis is advanced, she gets along with a handful of kids, and she raises her hand a lot in class. You’ve got a well-adjusted kid, Ms. Way.”

 

Lindsey smiled down at the folder, running her finger across the paper where Dallon had listed out all of the grades he’d put in so far. “You don’t have a participation grade?”

 

“My daughter, she’s a year behind yours, has anxiety, and it’s always made it hard for her to speak up in class. I didn’t want to make kids feel like they had to talk or risk failing,” Dallon said. “I figured that if they can express their ideas to me on paper, it doesn’t really matter how many times they talk out loud.”

 

“But you have a section for group participation?” she asked, looking up at Dallon and raising an eyebrow. He felt like he was getting judged. At least Lindsey was friendly and not accusing him of failing her daughter.

 

“Group work sucks, but it’s inescapable,” Dallon said. “And, I take points off when there’re slackers in a group, too. Bandit’s not a slacker, she just doesn’t like sharing ideas with other people.”

 

“She’s a perfectionist,” Lindsey said. “She doesn’t trust other people with her words.”

 

“I’ve met people like that,” Dallon said. He actually hadn’t, but he’d heard of someone like that. Ryan Ross, who’d been the first songwriter in Brendon’s band, before Brendon and Ross got into a long fight that got MTV involved and started a few rumours about them being secret lovers. They were, Brendon had told Dallon that later, but their romance had nothing to do with the split. It was just Ryan wanting his words back from Brendon’s mouth, and Brendon not wanting to let go of being the center of attention. 

 

“Bad college flashbacks?” Lindsey asked, smiling like she and Dallon were sharing a secret. 

 

Dallon hadn’t gone to college, though, not in the way most people did. He’d gone to Utah State for two and a half years before dropping out to tour, and then he’d gone back and gotten an English and teaching degree from Rutgers, because they’d offered it and Dallon didn’t really have a better option. Dallon waved his hand. “Ehh, not really. More like I played in a band with a really selfish guy. It didn’t end well.”

 

Lindsey frowned. “That sucks. I was in a band for a while, but then we all got old so I went back to making art. It’s weird, though, technically being retired.”

 

“I don’t feel like I’m retired,” Dallon said. “But I also don’t think I could pick up my bass and join a band again, so maybe I am.”

 

Lindsey’s eyes lit up. “You’re a bassist too? That’s amazing! Who’d you play for?”

 

“Uh, two bands, actually. At different times,” Dallon said, rubbing the back of his neck. It was always awkward, talking about his time as a musician. Brendon’s band had just been so big, so popular, that people stopped caring about Dallon when they realised who he used to play for. They didn’t ever ask what he liked about touring, or making music. They just started asking what it was like to be friends with Brendon Urie. “I was the bassist and vocalist for a band called the Brobecks in the 2000s, and then after they dissolved, I got a gig as the touring bassist for Panic! at the Disco.”

 

“Really?” Lindsey said. “I’ve never heard of the Brobecks before. What’d they sound like.”

 

“Indie rock, some synth-pop,” Dallon said. “It was a Salt Lake based band. We never got that big.”

 

“That’s fine, I like smaller bands. They’re always more authentic when they don’t have anyone to impress,” Lindsey said. Dallon believed her. He’d seen footage of Brendon’s band, back when it wasn’t his and he was just the vocalist. There was more of an art to it then, and it felt like the band was always trying to outdo itself. 

 

“I definitely liked playing smaller venues,” Dallon said. “It felt more personal. Stadiums always freaked me out.”

 

“I never played a stadium,” Lindsey said. “We did go on Warped a few times, which was fun. It was hot as hell, though, which is the only downside to outdoor arenas. Sunglasses aren’t as cool as you think when you’re trying to do a backbend in the heat of the summer in a foreign city.”

 

Dallon shook his head. “I have to admit, I’ve never been in that situation. I did sleep with the lead singer, though, which always makes for an interesting morning after.”

 

“I thought you said you were the lead singer in the Brobecks,” Lindsey said, tilting her head again. Bandit did that, too, whenever she felt like Dallon was in the wrong about the meaning of a story.

 

“I was. I meant the other band,” Dallon said. He had no idea why he was telling a stranger this. He never had a reason for telling people that he’d slept with Brendon Urie. He wasn’t proud of the affair, or acting like a bitter ex. It was just something that had happened. Most people didn’t believe him, anyway. Who wouldn’t lie and say they fucked the lead singer of Panic! at the Disco if they had the chance? “I slept with the lead singer in Panic! at the Disco.”

 

Lindsey made a face. “He’s not even that attractive. Plus, he’s a bit of an asshole, isn’t he?”

 

“Yeah, kind of. I don’t know why it happened,” Dallon said. That was a lie. He’d been freshly divorced (and disowned by all of his family except his two kids) when he first joined Panic!, and Brendon was still reeling from the fued with Ross. The affair was just so that neither of them had to sleep on a cold mattress. Dallon sighed, and leaned back a little. “I hope I’m not overstepping. I don’t know if this is appropriate or not…”

 

“Who cares?” Lindsey said, shrugging. “I love trading tour stories with people. It’s why I still go to shows, even if I don’t really know the music. You never know who you’ll meet there.”

 

Dallon smiled. “Maybe I should see a show sometime. I haven’t been in the music scene for a while, and it’d be nice to get back in, see what’s going on.”

 

“Well, my wife’s band plays weekends at a few places in the city,” Lindsey said. She opened her purse, which was large, black denim, and covered in patches and buttons. She pulled out a crumpled flyer and handed it over to Dallon. “Her band’s more punk than what you’ve played, I’m guessing, but the venue has multiple showrooms and someone’s always playing something. There’s a lot of variety there, and a lot of local kids. It’s a good place to start, if you’re serious about it.”

 

“Thanks, maybe I’ll check it out,” Dallon said. He wasn’t sure if he would or not, since he didn’t have a lot of spare time to go running around to see concerts anymore. He didn’t want to force his kids on the Ways, either, just so he could go out and have a night of fun. “Did you have any more questions about Bandit? I know we kind of got off topic…”

 

“Oh, no, not really,” Lindsey said. “I was mostly worried about social stuff. She was in a different school last year, and it didn’t fit well. I was worried we’d run into the same problem here, but so far, Bandit’s doing great.”

 

Dallon grinned. “That’s awesome. Feel free to shoot me an email or anything if you’ve got questions, though. I do try to respond.”

 

Lindsey laughed and said she would, and then shook Dallon’s hand over the desk. She gathered her art portfolio back up, and walked out the door, just like she’d come in. Dallon wasn’t sure what he’d expected Bandit’s parents to be like, but he wasn’t entirely surprised. It took eccentric people to make a kid that confident in their own weirdness. Dallon wouldn’t be surprised if, ten years down the road, he checked the news only to see that she was some kind of famous artist herself. 

 

Dallon looked down at the flyer, straightening it out. The address was somewhere in Queens, far away from where Dallon lived. He wanted to go, but he wished there was someone for him to go with. He was afraid of being the only not punk looking, middle aged guy in there. Even if it was Bandit’s mom’s band playing. It was weird to be around the same age as the band.

 

* * *

 

“Dad, Jamie’s mom is here!” Amelie called from the front of the house. “Bye!”

 

Dallon shot up from where he and Knox had been messing around with Dallon’s old bass. He’d forgotten that Amelie was going over to her friend’s house tonight, and he wanted to check that she’d packed everything she needed before she left. Amelie had a tendency to forget her hairbrush. It wasn’t the worst thing to forget, but Dallon didn’t want her getting lice or anything because one of the other girls had bad hygiene and Amelie just chose the wrong brush to borrow. 

 

He heard the front door slam shut before he was even out into the living room, and Dallon swore under his breath. He checked over his shoulder to make sure Knox hadn’t heard. He hadn’t. Dallon rushed through the house, skidding to a stop at the front door and internally cringing as he saw the bright red Prius drive down the street. 

 

Dallon had missed his own daughter. Fuck. 

 

Dallon turned around and returned to Knox, telling him that his sister had slipped away into the night without even a proper goodbye, and oh, how Dallon missed the days when his children hugged his leg, tearfully begging him not to leave them alone at Kindergarten. 

 

Knox scrunched up his nose. “Dad, you’re weird. Can you show me that  _ All the Boys _ thing again?”

 

“Sure, of course,” Dallon said, nodding and scooting around so that he was next to Knox. He wrapped his fingers around the neck of the bass, feeling the strings under brand new skin. Dallon’s calluses were long gone, but the muscle memory was still there. It was stronger for the songs he’d actually written, because there had been many late nights spent perfecting everything so that Brendon wouldn’t hate it all. 

 

Dallon had done a lot to impress Brendon. He’d done a lot to impress various people, actually, and most of them had used him until they were bored and then moved on to better things without Dallon at their side. It sucked, but it was Dallon’s life, and he’d gotten two great kids out of it, so he didn’t complain much. 

 

Knox and Dallon messed around on Dallon’s bass until it was time for dinner. Dallon started pulling stuff out while Knox washed his hands and set the table. Dallon would have to get the drinks, since Amelie wasn’t there and that was usually her job for dinnertime. It wasn’t too hard, but it meant Dallon would have to rearrange the order he did some things. 

 

Dinner wasn’t complicated, though. It was just spaghetti, meatballs, and a side of broccoli. Dallon tried to be healthy, especially when he was also feeding his kids. 

 

Something felt wrong, though, and it wasn’t just Amelie’s empty seat. Knox seemed to feel it too, because he kept asking Dallon about why Amelie was acting different, and if she was going to leave them just like his other dad had. Dallon winced a little at that. Knox had only been a few years old when Dallon had gotten divorced, so Knox didn’t know much about his other dad. Amelie remembered, because she’d been old enough when it happened, but Dallon had never fully explained it to his kids. He didn’t know if they’d understand, or if they’d think that Dallon was weird for being a man originally born in a woman’s body. 

 

“Amelie’s not leaving us, don’t worry,” Dallon said. “If you want, we can call her after dinner to say hi?”

 

“Won’t that annoy her?” Knox said. “She says I’m annoying whenever I come into her room to talk to her about music stuff.”

 

“Some people like more private time than others. A single phone call isn’t going to annoy Amelie, though. I promise.” A single phone call probably would annoy her, since it was coming from her dad and Amelie was trying to be cool now. Dallon hoped it didn’t matter, and that Amelie would indulge her younger brother just this once. 

 

Dallon pulled out his phone and dialled Jamie’s mom’s number. He told Knox he’d put it on speaker phone once he got to Amelie, and then turned his attention back to the ringing in his ear. Jamie’s mom picked up after a handful of rings. “Hello, this is Danielle Faulkner speaking.”

 

“Hi, Danielle, this is Dallon, I’m Amelie’s dad,” Dallon said. “Could I talk to her for a second? It’s nothing pressing, her brother just wanted to say hi.”

 

“Oh, the girls have already left, I’m sorry,” Danielle Faulkner said over the phone. 

 

Dallon frowned. “Left? To go where?”

 

“There’s a show up in the city that they wanted to see,” she said. “One of Jamie’s friends got her mom to buy everyone tickets, and since it’s a Friday, I figured, why not? My husband’s driving; do you want me to give you his number so you can try to call him?”

 

“No,” Dallon said, trying to hide the emotions brimming in the back of his throat. He was freaking out, and that terror was covering the anger he was feeling. Amelie was sneaking off to a concert in New York City, and she hadn’t told him about it at all. What if something had happened, and he’d needed to come get her in the middle of the night? What if she got hurt at the concert? What if some creep tried to feel her up? She was a kid, for fucks sake, Dallon was allowed to be paranoid about her going places late at night. “Could you tell me where the show is, though? And who’s playing.”

 

“Of course! The band’s Panic! at the Disco, and they’re playing in this cute little underground place…” Danielle rattled off the address. It sounded familiar. Dallon stood up and walked over to the fridge, where he’d pinned Lindsey’s flyer amongst the other parenting items he’d put up above the kids’ eye level. Sure enough, it was the same place Lindsey had recommended Dallon try out. Dallon frowned. Why was Brendon bothering to go somewhere so small? Brendon didn’t do intimate shows, not when he could get people to pay him thousands of dollars just for a meet and greet. 

 

“Alright, thank you,” Dallon said. He tacked on a “have a nice night,” before hanging up and turning to Knox. Dallon let out a sign. “So, slight change of plans. Your sister’s being a rebellious teenager, which means I have to go get her and be a mean, nagging parent.”

 

“Can I stay with the Ways?” Knox asked. He looked a little too excited about that. Dallon knew it was because of the drum kit in their basement.

 

“I’ll ask them,” Dallon said, even though he was pretty sure the Ways would be okay with it. They liked Dallon’s kids. “I don’t want to intrude on them. It’d be rude.”

 

“Ok, dad,” Knox said, and then raced off, hopefully to go pack an overnight bag. Dallon didn’t know how long he’d be out. He figured it wouldn’t take the entire night, but he’d rather Knox be prepared for anything. Parenting was hard sometimes, and it was even harder when his kids decided to be stubborn little shits. Dallon loved him, he really did, but sometimes he wanted to drop face down into a pillow and scream for a few hours. 

 

Dallon called over to the Ways house next, and sure enough, they were fine with taking care of Knox while Dallon parented his other child in a different city. Dallon walked Knox over, and then returned to his house to take a moment to just breath. He’d expected at least one more year before he had to start doing these things. He didn’t want to be the bad guy yet. He didn’t want to be the bad guy ever, but he knew it would happen eventually. All kids hated their parents at some point in their childhood. 

 

He stared at the flyer for a moment, and a really dumb, really impulsive thought crossed his mind. If Dallon was going to go up to New York City to drag his daughter out of a Panic! show, it’d be best for him not to look like a boring dad. Amelie was going to be embarrassed regardless, and there was a bitter part of Dallon that wanted Brendon to see him in the crowd and regret letting him go, so it was a win-win situation. 

 

Actually, no one was winning, because Dallon was internally screaming and Amelie was going to get grounded for the first time and probably hate him forever because of it, but hey. Dallon was thirty-six. He was allowed to have a midlife crisis and put some glitter on his face. No one was going to care.

 

Dallon headed to his bedroom and dug into the back of his closet, to where his old show clothes were still hanging, secured under dry cleaner’s plastic so that they didn’t wrinkle. There was a metallic leather jacket that Dallon hadn’t worn onstage because it was too hot, it was flashy and looked good on him, so he grabbed it anyway. He also grabbed a pair of jeans with large, frayed holes in the knees, an old Brobecks t-shirt that had seen better days, and his old converse. 

 

Dallon could totally pull off a punk vibe. He’d done it before, when he was younger and the guys in the Brobecks convinced him to spike his pixie cut and dye a piece of it purple. It didn’t matter that that had happened twelve years ago. Dallon still looked young, and kind of cool, whenever he felt like putting effort into his attire.

 

He smudged some eyeliner around his eyes and added the glitter, turning his face in the bathroom mirror to make sure he didn’t look ridiculous, and then ran his hands through his hair to get rid of the extra glitter and make his hair look less nine-to-five and more back-home-at-dawn. Once he was done, Dallon grabbed his keys, wallet, and his phone and headed to his car. He plugged in the address for the venue, and started driving, letting Stevie Nicks float in and out as the GPS needlessly directed him out of his neighbourhood.

 

It took Dallon a little over an hour to get to the venue, even in the evening when everyone was trying to leave the city. Dallon supposed that was Brendon’s fault, because when he pulled up to the address, there was a line spilling out and around the block. Even with his windows rolled up, Dallon could hear the music blasting from inside. Friday nights really were the night to come out and see a show. If this was a different situation, Dallon would be more willing to wait in line to get inside. He was here for his kid, though, and he wasn’t in the mood to wait.

 

Dallon found an empty meter a few blocks away, and put in enough to last him for the next twelve hours. He didn’t know why he put in so much. He just didn’t want to get his car towed. 

 

By the time Dallon got back to the venue, the line had gotten longer and there were a handful of bouncers standing in front of the door, holding back teenage girls and angry parents alike. Dallon gritted his teeth, mentally said fuck it, and strode up to the door. Immediately, he was pushed back by a guy who was just as tall as him, but twice as broad. The bouncer stared Dallon down. “Sorry man, no exceptions. If you want to get in, you have to get in line.”

 

Dallon rolled his eyes without thinking. “I don’t want to see the show. My kid’s in there, and she’s not supposed to be. Just let me slip in and get my daughter, that’s all.”

 

“Cute story, get to the back of the line,” the bouncer said, pushing Dallon back with one hand. 

 

Dallon pressed back with his shoulder, clenching his teeth. “I swear it’s not a story! She’s twelve, she shouldn’t be out here--”

 

“Back of the line,” he repeated. Dallon tried to push forward again, parental instincts getting ahead of his rational thinking, and was immediately shoved backwards. Dallon’s converse skidded on the dirty concrete, and he flailed his arms trying to stay upright. He righted himself, and was about to say something back to the bouncer again, when he heard someone call his name. 

 

Dallon looked over to where the voice had come from, cutting through the screaming and the music, and saw Lindsey Way standing in the shadows. She was dressed in all black and leather, and was waving a cigarette in the air. Her blood red lips split into a grin when she noticed she had Dallon’s attention. “Hey, Dallon!”

 

She came over, taking a drag from her cigarette as she walked, and linked her arm with Dallon’s. “Almost didn’t recognise you in that get up. Hey, man, this is my friend, Dallon. I invited him, don’t worry about it.”

 

The bouncer shook his head at Lindsey. “You gotta keep me updated with your weird art friends. I never know who anyone is.”

 

“Sorry, it was a last minute thing,” Lindsey said, shrugging. She tugged Dallon away from the main entrance, though, and down a dark, smelly alleyway. Dallon couldn’t see for shit, and all he could smell was the stench of city streets and cigarette smoke. He squinted in the dark, and thought he saw two people fucking against the wall, but he couldn’t tell. The buildings on either side of him and Lindsey were each three stories tall, and they didn’t let any light down between them. 

 

There were stairs at the back of the building, leading down to a basement room that was horribly lit and just as loud as the Panic! show in the front. It was more screaming and drums, though, and less electronic bass and Brendon’s voice cutting through the air. Before the door even opened, Dallon knew where he was going. This wasn’t a secret show by one of the country’s biggest bands. This was an underground punk show, where people went in dark and dirty and came out looking worse. 

 

Dallon had never been to a punk show. He was going to pass out from fear, and possibly from getting hit in the face. 

 

Dallon put his hand on Lindsey’s shoulder before she could accidentally slip away and leave Dallon all alone and surrounded by people who looked way tougher than him. “Thanks for not getting me kicked out and all, but I really do need to go get my daughter. She’s upstairs at the other show.”

 

Lindsey looked over her shoulder at Dallon, raising an eyebrow. “Listen, I know we don’t know each other too well, but if there’s one thing I learned from having a mom who wouldn’t let me go to shows, it’s that kids are gonna do what they want regardless of what we tell them. So, loosen up a bit. She’s with friends, right? She didn’t just take a taxi up here on her own?”

 

“She’s with friends,” Dallon said. “But she’s also the youngest, and I don’t want them being a bad influence--”

 

“Dallon, seriously. It’s one show, one night, and if you want to yell at her and ground her tomorrow morning for lying to you, go for it,” Lindsey said. “Hell, that’s what I’d do if Bandit ever snuck out.”

 

Dallon sighed. “Now I feel like I’m a bad parent.”

 

“You’re not, and your daughter isn’t going to hate you,” Lindsey said. She nudged Dallon in the elbow. “Come on, my wife’s about to go on. Her band puts on a great show, better than anything that Brendon Urie fucker could ever come up with.”

 

Dallon couldn't argue with that. He let Lindsey lead him into the crowd, and the familiar stench of sweat, cheap beer, and leather pulled him in. Suddenly he was twenty one again, clutching a bass in some stranger's basement, desperate to prove to himself and the crowd that a woman could be more than an accessory on stage. The Brobecks had been everything to Dallon, back when he was young and reckless and didn't know why he hated the idea of settling down and becoming a mom and housewife. 

 

The band took the stage. There were five of them, dressed in grunge leather and blurred eye makeup. The frontwoman was fierce, with vampire-like pointed teeth and wild black hair styled in a strange imitation of Joan Jett. There were holes up and down her black jeans, and chains dangling from her belts. She was a punk kid's wet dream, straight out of 1997. 

 

Lindsey elbowed Dallon, grinning. “That's my wife.”

 

“You did good,” Dallon said, because he wasn't sure what else to say. 

 

Lindsey's wife looked over to the bassist and one of the guitarists, waiting on them. The guitarist was tall, with broad shoulders and a luscious mane of curly brown hair. There was a cut running through his eyebrow, recent, and Dallon wondered what kind of shit these guys got into when they weren't on stage. 

 

The bassist was something else entirely. He was tall, made mostly of leg, and his jaw looked like it could be used to cut sandwiches. His eyes were circled in a thick, messy black liner, and his hair was done up like Bowie. He was hot as shit. He was even hotter when the music started, and the crowds went batshit. The bassist was a singular calm entity as the band thrashed across the stage. The other guitarist, the short one with a jet black mohawk with a mind of its own, leapt at the bassist, trying to take him out. The bassist just turned, smooth like water trailing down the outside of a pitcher, and avoided the attack. 

 

The guitarist through himself into the crowd instead, screaming along to the words the vocalist spat into the mic. It was hard, it was sharp, and Dallon almost got kicked in the face as the guitarist surfed above his head. 

 

Dallon couldn't keep his eyes off the bassist, though. His bass was slightly out of tune, abrasive enough that Dallon couldn't ignore it. He wasn't punk enough to understand the ugliness. He was, however, gay enough to want to bone the shit out of the bassist. It was an empty fantasy, though. There were too many degrees of separation between Dallon and the bassist, and he'd learned that sleeping with musicians didn't end well. Brendon Urie had made that much clear before he got married and kicked Dallon out of the band. 

 

Dallon was sweaty and bruised by the end of the set. His jacket was falling off of his shoulder, and his lip was throbbing from where someone had fist-bumped right into him. Dallon licked at his lip, tasting blood and not caring that he did. He felt alive. He felt like he was a kid again, but this time as a guy and without any internalised shit to hold him back. He could fuck the bassist, if he tried. He still had Lindsey next to him, and she was yelling something over the crowd and pulling at Dallon’s elbow. 

 

Dallon let her pull him up through the crowd. They moved around to the edge of the stage, and then Lindsey was leaping up over the barrier, landing on her toes like a cat. Dallon was less graceful, stumbling a little as he cleared the barrier. Someone had grabbed onto his jacket and caused him to lose his balance. Dallon turned around and shoved the guy off, careful to dodge his fist so he didn't get hit again. 

 

Lindsey and Dallon circled around to the back of the stage, where the band was putting away their instruments and pouring water over their faces. Up close, they were even more roughed up than Dallon had first thought. He locked eyes with the bassist from across the room, and missed what Lindsey was saying to him. The bassist smirked, winked, and started to shrug off his leather jacket. There was a hole in the shoulder, and his Joy Division shirt had the sleeves cut off. He had nice arms, and veiny hands. He kept getting better the longer Dallon watched him. 

 

Lindsey elbowed Dallon. “That's my wife's brother, Mikey. He's not as scary as he looks, I promise.”

 

“I'm sure he's not,” Dallon said, and stepped forward towards Mikey. He had a name. He just had to think of a good way to introduce himself. Mikey didn't know Dallon as anyone other than the tall guy in a shiny jacket. Dallon didn't want to ruin that image, or make Mikey think he was boring. 

 

Dallon stood in front of him. Mikey was a few inches shorter than Dallon, and his jaw was even sharper up close. Dallon looked Mikey up and down one final time, hoping a clever line would come to him. Dallon swallowed, and his mind blanked. “Your bass is out of tune.”

 

Mikey laughed. “That's a rude way to say hello.”

 

“I didn't--that wasn't what I wanted to say,” Dallon said, stumbling over his words. He should have just said a simple hi. He'd fucked up, and now this guy probably thought that Dallon was a pretentious dick, and Dallon would never get invited back to a show again. 

 

Mikey shook his head and turned his arm over so that Dallon couldn't see the loopy cursive words inked into his skin. “It's fine. I play with my bass out of tune whenever Lindsey shows up with a hot person. You're the first person who's pointed it out, though, so I guess you're the one.”

 

“The one,” Dallon repeated. 

 

“Yeah, my soulmate,” Mikey said. He held up his arm, and sure enough, Dallon's words were etched into his skin. Dallon reached out, gently tracing his fingers over the ink. There were no bumps or ridges, or anything that would signify a marking, but the green-black ink was there. It was real. 

 

“This is… not how I expected to meet you,” Dallon said. He looked up from Mikey’s arm, keeping his fingers there. He felt plugged in. There was a solid thump in his chest, the same sensation that came from plugging his bass into a fancy amp and knowing he wouldn’t get any feedback no matter how much he moved. “I wasn’t planning on meeting anyone, actually. I only came here to get my daughter, and then the bouncer was being a dick and Lindsey grabbed me and I ended up here.”

 

Mikey raised an eyebrow. “Is that a bad thing?”

 

“No, not at all,” Dallon said. “I just didn’t picture this being the place I met my soulmate.”

 

“If it makes you feel better, I wasn’t expecting my soulmate to be covered in glitter,” Mikey said. A crooked grin grew on his face. “Not that I’m complaining. Shiny looks good on you. I just never expected it to be my type.”

 

“And I never expected punk to be my type, but here we are,” Dallon said. He wasn’t sure where to go from this point. He’d kind of given up on finding his soulmate, and he was too old to still be daydreaming about perfect first dates. This was far from the expected first meeting. Most commercials and movies had the soulmates meeting in a cafe, or by bumping into each other on their way to their respective jobs. No one talked about meeting your soulmate in the nicotine soaked, grungy backroom of an underground punk venue. 

 

“You mentioned having a daughter, earlier?” Mikey said, dragging Dallon away from his thoughts. He’d been staring at Mikey, unintentionally, and at some point, his fingers had gotten intertwined with Mikey’s. Dallon didn’t mind at all. 

 

He nodded. “Yeah. She and some of her friends snuck off to the Panic! concert on the other side of the building. I’m not… I’m not super mad, because it’s a Friday, but we live over an hour away and--I don’t want to come off as a shitty parent.”

 

“You’re not,” Mikey said. “Sometimes I wish Gee and my parents had held us back from doing stupid shit. I would have gotten in a lot less trouble.”

 

“I get that,” Dallon said. “I mean, my parents were the opposite, they never let me do anything, but I snuck out anyway and ended up being a queer, glitter wearing ex-bassist, so who knows what method works best.”

 

Mikey laughed. He had a cute laugh. It was more like a giggle, and Dallon wanted him to do it more. The lust from earlier wasn’t wearing off now that Dallon was talking to Mikey, which was a mixed bag. On one hand, it meant that Dallon still saw Mikey as hot, as well as having a cute laugh and an endearing personality. On the other hand, Dallon still wanted to rail the guy, and he couldn’t do that in public. 

 

Well, he could, because he and Brendon had fucked backstage before or after a show a few times, and no one had cared. That could have been because Brendon was famous and known for being over-affectionate and impulsive, though. Also, Dallon was Brendon’s rebound from Ryan Ross, and he had no idea how intense their relationship had been. 

 

Mikey was eyeing Dallon with a dark look and wide eyes. Like he was looking for an invitation. “So, wanna go crash a concert?”

 

“Will they let you in?” Dallon asked. He didn’t know how well known Mikey’s band was. He’d never heard of them before, but he didn't run in a lot of punk circles.

 

“They don’t have to. I know where the back door is,” Mikey said, and winked. He squeezed Dallon’s hand, and Dallon nodded. Mikey’s face split into a grin and he pulled Dallon away from the rest of the band and Lindsey. He led Dallon to a door on the side of the venue with a glowing EXIT sign hanging above it. The door was covered in graffiti and various Sharpie messages, but Dallon didn’t get a chance to read any of them before he and Mikey burst through to the other side. 

 

The hallway was narrow and dark. Dallon held onto Mikey’s hand and pressed against his back as Mikey moved them forward, to where Dallon could hear the opening chords to one of the Panic! songs he’d written before getting fired. Dallon turned Mikey around, so that they were facing each other, and tilted his chin up, kissing him. It seemed appropriate. They were both musicians, in different fields, and backstage kisses were normal. Mikey kissed back, putting his hands on Dallon’s hips and pushing him back against the wall. Dallon curled his hands around the collar of Mikey’s leather jacket, feeling the fraying, cracked leather under his fingers. 

 

Mikey bit down on Dallon’s lower lip and ground his hips up against Dallon’s. Dallon curled his leg around Mikey’s pulling the other man closer. He tipped his head back to give Mikey better access to his throat. Dallon trailed his hands down Mikey’s chest, feeling his hardened nipples through his shirt. Mikey’s skin felt like it was on fire, and Dallon wanted to lick at his stomach. 

 

Mikey ducked his head, mouthing at Dallon’s earlobe. “Don’t you have a daughter to find?”

 

“Why are you being responsible right now?” Dallon said, but he dropped his hands away from Mikey and straightened up. His skin felt raw and tingly, and he could feel two spots on his neck throbbing from where Mikey had been biting him. Mikey stepped back, and Dallon shivered from the sudden change in temperature. He brought his fingers up to his neck, pressing against the places Mikey had marked. “You’re right, though. I guess I have to go be an adult now.”

 

“Well, at least you have a wingman,” Mikey said. It was too dark to tell, but Dallon was pretty sure Mikey winked before reaching out to take Dallon’s hand again. 

 

It was weird, how easily the two of them fell into place together. Dallon supposed that was just part of the whole being soulmates thing, and that they were meant for each other so there would never be any awkwardness. Dallon liked it. It was different from being with his ex-husband, or being with Brendon. Dallon’s ex-husband had been rigid, and made Dallon feel caged. Brendon was hectic, and desperate, and he made Dallon feel like a dirty secret. Mikey showed up out of nowhere, and slid in beside Dallon. He was like a missing piece, filling a hole Dallon hadn’t noticed at first.

 

The sound of Panic! at the disco had subsided into girls screaming and chanting for Brendon. It was right before the encore, and the whole band would be backstage, grabbing water and fixing their attire. Dallon could wait for a few minutes, and avoid Brendon, or he could open the door and stop giving a shit. 

 

Dallon opened the door, and looped his arm around Mikey’s waist, pulling him in close. Some of the tech guys looked up as they entered, but no one tried to stop Dallon from crossing the backstage area. He wasn’t sure where he was going, or how he was supposed to find Amelie in the crowd on the other side of the curtain, but he was in the same room as her. That was a step in the right direction. 

 

“Dallon?” Someone’s voice said. Dallon turned his head, and there, looking at Dallon through a mirror, with his hands still up and styling his hair, was Brendon Urie. He looked surprised and bewildered, and all Dallon could think of was to wave. 

 

Brendon dropped his hands to his sides and turned around, leaning on the table. He was trying to be casual, but Dallon could see his foot tapping rapidly against the floor. “What, uh, what’re you doing here? How’d you get back here?”

 

Mikey gave Brendon a tiny wave. “That was me. My band was playing a show in the basement room, Dallon wanted to get in here, I know all the back doors. I’m Dallon’s boyfriend, by the way.”

 

So they were boyfriends now. Dallon wasn’t complaining. He nodded. “And soulmate. We’re just passing through, don’t worry. I’m not here to steal your show.”

 

“I didn’t think you would,” Brendon said. He sounded so sure of himself. Sometimes, Dallon wished that Brendon would be less confident. He was an attractive man, he just came off as such a douchebag that his looks stopped mattering after a while. “You’re not the type.”

 

Dallon couldn’t help himself. He rolled his eyes. “And I see you haven’t changed. Have a good show, Bren.”

 

And with that, Dallon turned and continued walking through the backstage area. Mikey was right beside him, holding on and making sure Dallon knew he wasn’t alone. Dallon wasn’t sure what he’d expected. It wasn’t as though Brendon would see Dallon happy and with his soulmate and drop to his knees, crying and begging Dallon to come back to Panic! at the Disco. Brendon wasn’t going to hand Dallon a bass either, and ask him to play the encore with the rest of the band, as a final, emotional performance. 

 

No, Brendon didn’t like giving away his spotlight. Acknowledging Dallon would do that, so Dallon had to slink off with Mikey and go back to his normal life. There was no dramatic, final movie scene ending. There was no grand applause, or tearful audiences cheering for Dallon and his new life now that he had his soulmate by his side. He was still the same. He was still a single dad, and a middle school teacher, and a transgender ex-bassist.

 

“Hey,” Mikey said, stopping Dallon before they could sneak out into the audience. “I’m really glad you showed up tonight.”

 

Dallon stared at him. Maybe it was the bad lighting, but Mikey looked sad, and tired. Dallon swallowed. “Me too. It wasn’t what I’d planned, but I’m  _ very  _ okay with how things turned out.”

 

“I didn’t think I was ever going to meet you, honestly,” Mikey said. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked away from Dallon. Behind them, the cheering was growing louder as the drummer beat out a drumroll and the lights came back onto the stage. Mikey looked small, the angles on his face emphasised by the light filtering in through the curtain. “I did a lot of stupid shit, before I met you. Drugs, hook-ups, I cheated on my ex-wife. I’m messed up, Dallon, and I know that God or science or whatever has said we’re supposed to be together, but if you don’t want my baggage, you don’t have to have it.”

 

“I think part of being someone’s soulmate is that the baggage doesn’t matter,” Dallon said. 

 

Mikey rolled his eyes. “Easy for you to say. You’re not like me.”

 

“No, you’re right. I’ve never done drugs, or been in a punk band, but I slept with Brendon while he was dating his wife, and I grew up hating myself for being who I was,” Dallon said. His voice caught in his throat, suddenly. He wanted to tell Mikey that he was trans, because they were soulmates, and Mikey would find out eventually. Brendon hadn’t cared what Dallon did or didn’t have in his pants, and Brendon had been the only person Dallon had fucked since getting divorced and coming out. 

 

“Try growing up Catholic and being queer and trans,” Mikey snapped.

 

Dallon couldn’t help but smile in relief. “Mormon and trans. And gay, on top of all that.”

 

“Wait, seriously?” Mikey said, his eyes widening. “You don’t… you’re too fucking tall to be a trans guy, what the fuck.”

 

“Way to stereotype,” Dallon said, laughing a little. So much was going on in his head, and he wasn’t sure what he was feeling exactly. 

 

Mikey shook his head and jumped Dallon, dragging him down into a kiss. Somehow, it was even more frantic than their first kiss, but it didn’t remind Dallon of Brendon Urie at all. Mikey melted against Dallon, and Dallon melted right back, and they were two halves of a whole, making out behind the stage as Brendon Urie’s voice crooned to the audience about sex. 

 

“How pissed do you think they’d be if we had sex right here?” Mikey whispered into Dallon’s ear. 

 

Dallon rolled his eyes and pushed away from Mikey. “I don’t think they’d care, but when we have sex for the first time, I don’t want it to be rushed.”

 

Mikey nodded. “Can’t argue with that.”

 

He pulled out his phone and swirled it around so that Dallon could see. “If you wanna put your number in, I can text you or call you or whatever you like, and we can schedule a real date? Something that isn’t a couple of guys sneaking backstage to collect their kid from a secret NYC show, of course.”

 

“What’s your opinion on pizza and Lego Batman?” Dallon said. He’d have to figure out dating with kids. Mikey hadn’t been put off by hearing that Dallon was a single dad, thankfully, but he knew that dating was harder when he also had parental responsibilities to deal with. 

 

A smile crossed Mikey’s face. “That sounds great. I love kid movies, they’re so pure. Also, the superhero ones don’t make everything fucking edgy like DC does.”

 

“And they don’t have Joss Whedon directing them, like with Marvel,” Dallon said. 

 

Mikey made an exasperated face. “Oh, Jesus Christ, I hate that man. He ruined all my favourite Marvel characters, and I can’t just go read the comics, because Nick  _ fucking _ Spencer turned everyone into Nazis!”

 

“We’re going to get along really well,” Dallon said. It had nothing to do with them being soulmates, really. Dallon just liked Mikey.

 

Mikey leaned up and pecked Dallon on the lips. “Hell yeah we are. Now go be a dad.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave a comment/kudos if you enjoyed!


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